What Does It Take To Be Creative?

I could have an art studio supplied with all the finest paints and canvasses and goos and gewgaws that my heart could dream of, and still be stuck in the arid desert of non-creation.

Of course, now that I have left most of my art supplies in storage in Brooklyn, and don't even have a corner dedicated to creating, I like to think that "if only" I had a space, I could then be so creative it would be like a was being put through a muse powered juice machine. All that lovely liquid gold gushing out of me and onto the page.

Eh. Not true. It's a fantasy that I think we all have, that if circumstances were somehow different, THEN we could really be creative and our true selves would shine through. If we didn't have these toddlers hanging onto our legs demanding attention and sticky jelly sandwiches. If only we didn't have that full time job that we need to pay the bills. If only we had that MFA that would certify we were indeed artists. If only our friends/family/life/past wouldn't get in our way, we could be something better.

There's the fallacy, because we already are the "something better." We already are our true selves. We aren't failures because we don't take the paintbrush out. We aren't losers because we aren't sitting down to work on that novel that has been languishing in our laptop for YEARS. We are just living our lives. (And by "we" I mean, "me.")

Now, perhaps the thing that is getting in our way of unleashed creativity is the "if only" fantasy.

There is no "if only," there is only today and the choice we make to write or paint or craft or whatever it is that is our hearts desire. Yeesh. Hearts desire. What a scary thing to go for. The fantasy of it is less frightening than the reality.

The fantasy of what it would take is easier than the reality of making the time in a busy day for the things we really want.

In truth, creativity comes from a mind-set, not Mount Olympus on high.

Creativity is about looking at what you have, and seeing what you can do with it-- whether that is a few blocks of wood that would like to become a house, or a few minutes between when the kids go down for a nap and when dinner must be started.

Creativity is looking at a problem, and coming up with the way to solve it. So, maybe I've got no where to paint, so I toss a few pens in a bag and get a small sketchbook, and make the world my art studio.

I suppose the key to being creative is taking our native creativity and applying it, not just to the canvas or the page or the knitting needle, but also to our very lives.

Speaking of, I think it's time for me to stop procrastinating and start facing the novel which is scaring me. And soon. Before the kids wake up.

4/12 The Day of Super Duper Pooper Wildthings Let Loose (and maybe some peace for mama)

Releasing the boy into the wild of the garden, because he had been a wildman all morning. I asked if someone had been feeding him skittle behind my back, it was so crazy. And yet, once fed and let loose into the garden, the swaying green and dappled shadows and many small live things; lizards, insects, fish, must have exercised some calming influence.

Sitting in the garden letting the kids explore, and allowing me to read some of the newspaper.

A call from my brother about a friend of his who has a job he needs to fill asap, and which S actually has experience in. Wish us luck.

Poo. Poo makes me happy because this week, G has gone from a poo witholding, drama-making, screaming and crying, once a week pooper to a kid who poops whenever, no big deal. Knock on wood that it continues, even if there are more diapers involved. Maybe then we can work on potty training. This is the kind of happiness that will only be found on the happy list of the parent of toddlers.

Leftovers for lunch. They were very happy to see those fries and chicken tenders again.

See more progress on: list three things every day that made me happy

Like any other writer

a mom who writes must maintain her commitment to the words. She must sit down and face the page, the fears, the demons of her past and she must simply, again and again, write.

Unlike any other writer, her time is not her own.

The demands of motherhood and often care for the house and the feeding of those in that house, and the job that brings in some money and all the other roles that a mother must play, well… all that doesn’t leave much time to leisurely explore the wreck and get those words down on the page.

I am exploring what is possible in those small spaces that a mother (me) might find in her day. While waiting for the water to heat for my shower, I wrote a poem. Maybe that is what made me dizzy, and not the heat in the bathroom or that I skipped lunch (again.)

These few weeks, I am afraid that S is going to see the reason why I am a crappy housekeeper. For a long time, I thought it was because I was just lazy and not very good at cleaning. That still may be true, but I think the real reason I suck at keeping house is because I am a writer.

Sure, other writers are able to sweep the baseboards, but I am not. And in the last few years when I have been struggling with the day to day care of two small children and a very messy house, I have also been struggling with my anemic creativity.

I think that is one of the reasons I am not as productive or as neat as I could be. The pull from one role makes me feel guilty and anxious about the neglect of the other, so I try to do little bits of both, neither of which are very effective or fulfilling.

Maybe if I commit more dedicated time to writing, I won’t feel the need to neglect the small time I have to house cleaning, and I will be energized to get something done on that front, too.

Uh oh. I hear babies.

And thus my small time is through for now.

See more progress on: find a balance between creativity and motherhood

Poetry Month: I Loves You, You Knows I Do

I started writing poetry in high school. And it was god awful. In college, I studied poets, and I attempted to do a senior project in poetry, where I wrote a complete book of poems. I wrote constantly. I had hundreds of poems and did not seem to ever be able to turn off that part of me. I thought some of them were pretty good, but my advisor dumped me half way through, saying he didn’t think I could do it.

I still kept writing, but not as prolific as before. It was slower, and more haltingly. My confidence in my poetry was flattened. I wanted to apply to grad school for an MFA in poetry, but never managed to pull it off. Or perhaps I thought I would do it later, and then life got in the way. I kept writing, but stopped identifying myself as a poet, writer yes, poet, not so much anymore.

When I was living in New York City and single, I wrote scads of poetry, went to a few poetry slams and open mics, even read my stuff in front of complete strangers. I was always received well. I attempted to send my poems to lit mags, here and there, but after the initial attempt, it would take me a year or two before I got up the gumption to send anything else out. I spent an awful lot of time writing fiction and writing in my journals, and I could see the benefit of my studies in poetry and poetic tendencies in the prose.

Then I realized I was getting old and would need to do something if I didn’t want to be a waitress for my whole life(I was 25 when I made this realization,) so I decided to become a teacher. I might have thought that I would be giving up my poetry to become a teacher, but upon looking back, I can see that some of my best poetry was written when I was teaching. And let me tell you, teaching teenagers about poetry, and encouraging them to write their own is one of the most rewarding experiences I have ever had. I loved watching kids light up when they read something they connected with. Even better was when they found just the write words to share something of themselves, and opened up a door within them. So many of them took off into the poetry and blossomed.

Sometimes I think that door into myself was closed when I had kids. I know that poetry doesn’t go away. It’s still there somewhere inside of me, but there are times when the prosaic day to day of living is too loud and bulky to allow poetry sneak it’s way out into the sun.

I am working on opening that door. Maybe I’ll settle for a basement window.

It IS National Poetry Month, and that makes it a good time to make the attempt.

Next up: Who Knows!? Poets don’t stand for rigid schedules. Except for when they do.

See more progress on: celebrate poetry month

WOO HOO! 1000 Words today!

So hard to get started, but once started, I know I can write.

The key was to commit to those 15 minutes and just stop dithering.

I didn’t know what to write, I kept saying. I didn’t just want to babble, I wanted to write my book. However, I kept avoiding sitting down to write.

Two days, I wrote nothing. Last night before bed, I opened up my journal, since the computer was still too intimidating, and I wrote a (bad) poem. This morning I took out my journal while the kids were playing with papa, and wrote a few paragraphs. Then, when everyone took a nap, I got a brainstorm.

Bring my laptop down from the bedroom and set it on the dining table in the living room, out of the way, since no one eats there, and start writing… disconnected from the internet, which I think is key. Less opportunity to avoid. I brought down my first drafts of the first and second book. Then I still didn’t know what to do.

Luckily my uncle butted in. “Why aren’t you writing yet?”

“I don’t know where to start. Do I finish the first draft of the second book or finish the second draft of the first book?”

“Do it organically,” he said. “Just open up the program and do what feels right.”

So I did, and I did, and I ended up going back to the second draft work that I did on the first book. I wrote 1,091 words in an hour, with a break to go get a meatloaf sandwich for the lunch I had skipped.

It feels good. I wrote again. I started writing again, that is the hardest part. Once you open up the world, once you start the habit, it is easier the next time. It gets easier to get over those blocks each time you do it.

Easier and easier to take those little steps, and little steps lead to long journeys. Change your life in 15 minutes a day? Lets see if it works.

See more progress on: write 500 words everyday

Fifteen Minutes a Day to Living a Writer's Life. Wish Me Luck.

I’m back on wanting to live a writer’s life. I’m back on wanting to have a writing practice, writing everyday, even though I don’t know how much writing I am going to get done today or tomorrow or any other “everyday.”

Right now, I am reading a book called Pen on Fire by Barbara DeMarco Barrett. The busy woman’s guide to igniting the writer within, it says.

I’ve only just read the beginning, but she says that writing in 15 minute increments is the key. Everyone has 15 minutes hidden in their day. I know I do. I believe her theory, even though I haven’t read much more than bits and pieces of her book here and there. I wrote my last couple of first drafts with only fifteen minutes to spare throughout the day.

As DeMarco-Barrett says, “When [people] give even small chunks of time to writing, incredible things begin to happen. Resistance to writing evaporates, and is replaced with a feeling of fun and discovery. Ideas and creativity pour out. You even begin to appreciate your writing voice and your own unique style.”

She also says “Tend to your writing daily, and soon finding the time to write will become second nature; when this happens you’ll know you are living a writer’s life.”

This is a project I want to take on. I think I can manage this fifteen minute thing, it’s not too overwhelming to stop me… although, when I first started thinking about taking this on with my novels, rather than just random writing or poems or what have you, I slammed up against a wall, thinking, oy, there are no ideas in my head! I can’t start writing in my novel now, I don’t have any inspiration! And then, there the lady went, saying how even a few words here and there keep your project alive in your head, and keeps it fresh. There’s a quote from Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander “You have to keep your writing on life support, and give it oxygen.”

Yeah. These stories of mine are in vital need of some life support. It’s time for me to get back to work.

Fifteen minutes at a time.

See more progress on: write 500 words everyday

Forget About the Road Not Taken, I've Got This One Right Here, and It'll Do Just Fine

Whenever I am feeling stressed out about "where is my life going???" I remind myself that I am on an adventure. Life has taken some really unexpected detours. I have made some choices that have led me to some surprising places-- me? living in Florida? Nooooononono. Not I. But here I am and here is where I landed and these are the results of the choices I have made.

I feel like I am on the right path, but I cannot see the end of the journey. I can only go on faith that I am heading where I need to go. I also can't hold on to the idea that life should look any one way or another. I don't believe in holding onto regret, either, only in getting the most out of the choices that I have made.

So here I am, and I'm going to choose the life that is the result of the choices I have already made. I'm gonna work on the things that I can. Like my writing, and my blog, and my art, and creating the life that I want to live right now, not in some distant perfect looking future or some misty sentimental past.

Aww, heck. I think I'm gonna focus on this road right here, before I start worrying about the twists and turns and detours coming up in the future.

Ground and Center

When life throws you a whole mess of road blocks, how to get back to what you know is the right path?

I am totally discombobulated right now. New home, stuff in boxes or storage. No routine to speak of, which is really bothering me. People all around… I’m not even used to having S around this much, and now on top of him, there’s my uncle and other family members visiting.

I have my projects floating around in the ether of my head, and in the suitcases in my room.

It would be really easy to take it easy and just let the projects slide, and just let the everyday living take over, but these bumps in the road of my path are just that, bumps. I don’t want to sit down and park my butt because it’s a little rough. This is the right path.

Despite the disorganization that is my life right now, I need to take some time out for myself and allow myself to be present, not only to the here and now, but also to my higher self; the self that, not coincidentally, knows exactly what needs to be done. Reconnecting with my self will allow me to move forward, instead of stalling out.

Maybe I am not quite ready to take up my novel again. Or paint pictures to sell. Maybe there are some steps that need to happen first before I can get my footing back. Ground and center. Find that balance so that the journey can keep on going.

See more progress on: find a balance between creativity and motherhood

A Great Big, Scary, Unknown Adventure

Ivy is too young to really understand or care what is going on, but moving is hard on G. He sees his toys slowly disappearing and boxes slowly appearing, but it is a mystery to him. I don’t think he understands that we are leaving this house, the only house he’s ever known, for good. That’s okay. I’ve been emphasizing the “seeing Grandma” part.

He’s starting to act up a bit. Yelling and throwing things and tackling his baby sister. He isn’t sleeping well at all, taking hours at night to fall asleep. Last night I sat with him and told him exactly what was going to happen, with the packing up of toys and other things, and then the boxes going to be stored or shipped so we can have them later. I told him about how we were going to take our bags and go to the airport where we could see the planes up close, and then we would get on the airplane and fly above the clouds and when the plane landed we would see Grandma and he could sleep in the new toddler bed that she got for him with the Scooby dog that was waiting.

I think that made him feel better and he was able to fall asleep. Of course, this morning he opened up a box to find many of his beloved toys that are being shipped. He tried to pull them all out and when I put them back, oh, the yelling. Later, I had him go sit with papa and tell him all the things that were bothering him. Chief among them was, of course, “boxes.”

Well. It’s scary, it is. Scary to me and S, and we know what is going on. Of course, it might be scarier to us because we do know exactly what is going on and we have 37 and 43 years of old habits and ties to break. For G, I think if we focus on the Big Adventure aspect, it will be much easier. Because, you know, we’re going to get to go to the beach in a couple of days, where there will be lots of splashing and digging and running and exploring.

The adventures to come, for all of us, are unlimited.

See more progress on: go on adventures with my children

Now that I have been on a paring down kick

I’m really feeling less and less attached to all the stuff.

And not just having or collecting stuff. I’m not interested in buying. I’m not interested in having or knowing about or searching out the “best” of anything—other than the best ME. I like beauty, I like character, I still enjoy fashion and style and decorating, but I’m finding that I am not in a phase of putting a whole lot of energy into making them happen.

I’m tired of being tossed about by all the things I “should” do or “should” have or “should” be. I don’t really want to be a consumer, anymore, other than of food and art and maybe ideas… I have to think about what it means to “consume” ideas. Well, I do need some new jeans and some underwear, but after that, I’d like to go back to my consignment/thriftstore/yardsale ways, but ONLY for what I need and really want, not for the howcoolwhynot? stuff.

I was looking about online today and started finding all sorts of sites about organizing, simplifying, downsizing, zenifying etc. I sped around from link to link adding favorites, so that I can come back and look into them some more.

That’s the part where I have to see what it means to me to consume ideas. I think I want to focus on the things that are important to me, to think for myself about them, but to also search out others’ techniques and ideas on those things I care about. I DO NOT want to be led astray by all the wonderful things there are out in the world. Organizing and meal plans and simplifying are good. Writing and painting and childrearing, all good, but I don’t want to start waltzing with cool ideas that are not already on my dance card. No, I am not going to start making stuffed animals, or knitting. No, I am not going yard saling for cool furniture items that I can then refurbish. No, I am not going to be sucked into the vortex that is entertainment news!! A big no to that one. No, I am not going to sit infront of the tv all day just letting it play and distract me, even though there’s nothing on I particularly want to watch it.

Focus on the heart of what I want in my life, physically and mentally and emotionally and creatively. Trim away the distractions and the side-tracks and the fringes and the frou frou embellishments.

See more progress on: live simply